From dankest monsters we desire increase,
That thereby Cthulhu's rose might never fly,
But as the ****** should by time travel,
His tender hare might bear(the bear would eat the hare though) his memory:
But thou, contracted ebola to thine own bright laser eyes,
Feed'st thy light's rave with self-substantial diesel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
    Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
    To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.